Chapter 202: Chapter 202: Tensions in Silk

The city glimmered outside Joon-ho’s penthouse, rain slicking the glass, neon bleeding down the skyline. It should have been a night for catching up on sleep or unfinished paperwork, but there was no peace in the hours after sabotage. Every text from Harin replayed in his mind—damage reports, repair costs, a dozen apologies for things that weren’t her fault. Each buzz of his phone set his nerves on edge.

He poured a whiskey and leaned on the balcony, trying to drown the day’s chaos with cold air and silence. It wasn’t working. He was still there when the elevator chimed, its arrival softer than thunder, but just as certain.

Madam Ha-eun entered without knocking, her heels echoing across the marble as if she owned every inch of the city. Silk clung to her curves, her lips painted the same deep wine as her mood. She didn’t bother with greetings; she let the door close itself behind her and dropped a folder onto his kitchen counter, pages splaying out—names, usernames, surveillance stills, notes in a bold, expensive hand.

He turned, shoulders tight. "No warning?"

She cocked an eyebrow, glancing around the penthouse, as if appraising it for the first time. "Would you have said no if I asked?"

He left the whiskey untouched, hands on the counter. "Depends what you’re here for."

Ha-eun flicked her fingers over the folder. "I’m here because you’ve let your little circus disrupt my building and attract eyes I don’t like. You’re making noise, and not the kind that gets you ahead."

He glanced at the folder. The first page had a list of SNS handles, a grainy shot of a man leaving a garage, another of a woman with hair like Rina’s ducking through a stairwell. "You’ve been busy."

Her lips quirked. "I have resources you can’t imagine. These are the people watching you—and some who are thinking about touching your girls. You want LUNE to survive, you keep them quiet until you have something worth going to war for. Otherwise, you just make yourself a target."

He bristled at the edge in her tone. "Is this a threat or a favor?"

Ha-eun’s eyes swept over him—hungry, amused. "Neither. It’s a warning. One you should take seriously, before someone with less patience than me decides you’re worth swatting down."

He straightened, pulse ticking in his throat. "You think you’re the only one who knows how to play this game?"

Her laugh was low, cutting. "You’re still learning. This isn’t about who’s louder, or who posts the best apology. It’s about who can keep their teeth hidden until the moment they bite." She circled him, never raising her voice, letting the silk of her dress whisper with every step.

He tried to hold her gaze, but there was something predatory in her calm. "I’m not the one who wanted this circus. I’m just trying to keep people safe."

Her hand traced his jaw, light as a threat. "Safe isn’t strong. Safe is what gets people killed quietly, and nobody remembers their name." Her fingers skimmed the line of his throat, slipped beneath his collar. "You should be angry, Joon-ho. Not sorry."

He grabbed her wrist, more plea than challenge. "Then what do you want?"

She leaned in, lips at his ear. "I want to see if you’re smart enough to give up control before you lose it anyway."

He didn’t answer. She didn’t care.

She unhooked his belt with one hand, pulling it free, letting it fall to the floor with a muffled slap. His heart beat faster. She turned him, nudging him toward the living room, every move slow, deliberate, as if she had all night to make her point. She pushed him down onto the wide, low sofa, silk pooling around her thighs as she straddled him, the scent of her perfume drowning out the city’s electric fog.

She threaded the belt around his wrists, not too tight, but with the skill of someone who’d tied up better men than him. She leaned in until her lips brushed his, but didn’t kiss him. "You want power? You have to learn to give it up first. I’ll teach you—if you’re brave enough."

He wanted to laugh, or say something clever, but the look in her eyes pinned him. He felt the humiliation and thrill wind tight in his gut, like he was teetering on a rooftop ledge.

Her nails traced down his shirt, opening buttons one by one, her mouth never far from his throat. She pressed her knee between his thighs, controlling his hips, making him squirm. "Your girls think you’re untouchable. You need to remember you’re just a man, and men beg when they’re desperate."

He wanted to tell her no, but the word dissolved in his mouth. Her hand closed around his throat, thumb pressing lightly at his pulse. "If I wanted to break you, I could. But you’re worth more squirming, aren’t you?"

He let his head fall back, surrendering the pretense. She smiled, biting his jaw hard enough to leave a mark, her tongue tracing the bruise. "You think punishment is about pain. Sometimes it’s about waiting—wanting so much you ache for it."

He groaned, the sound raw in the quiet. She rocked her hips over his, letting the silk of her dress tease his bare skin, never giving him the friction he needed. Her hand slipped inside his open shirt, nails raking his chest. She kissed him then—slow, deep, unhurried, as if every second was hers to command.

She pulled back, lips glossy, breath cool against his ear. "If you want to be the king, you have to learn to kneel. Remember that."

He twisted against the belt, desperate for more, for anything, but she only smiled. "You can beg, or you can wait. That’s your choice."

He managed, "Please—"

But she covered his mouth with her palm, grinning. "Not yet."

While the penthouse filled with the quiet threat of silk and power, across the city Su-bin huddled in the stark white of the building’s security office. Her phone glowed with the reflected light of security monitors. Footage scrolled by—blurry, glitching frames, time codes flickering as she searched for anything out of place.

She rewound the morning’s tape, finger tapping the screen. There—someone slipping into the garage, face half-turned away, a ballcap pulled low, shoulders hunched. The camera caught a flash of a familiar jacket—maybe one of the freelance crew, maybe not. Su-bin scrubbed forward: the same figure disappearing into the practice room corridor ten minutes later. Right before the first blackout. Another angle caught the shadow of Mirae leaving that hallway, eyes wide, moving fast.

Su-bin saved the clips, heart pounding, her instincts prickling. She drafted a message for Ha-eun, attaching the footage: "Possible ID on intruder. Not clear, but looks like someone from the event crew. Will dig deeper. Mirae may have seen something." She debated copying Harin or Joon-ho, but hesitated—Ha-eun would want first crack at whatever mess this was. And Su-bin owed the madam her loyalty, always.

Back in the penthouse, Ha-eun’s control never faltered. She pressed her palm to Joon-ho’s chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath her fingers, the rise and fall of his breath.

"You want to fix everything, don’t you?" she whispered. "Even now, you’re thinking about your girls. Let them wait. Tonight, you’re the one who needs to learn patience."

She reached down, freed his cock, stroked him with agonizing slowness, her thumb gliding over the head, her voice silk and steel. "I like a man who knows when to obey. Makes it sweeter when I let him have what he wants."

He groaned, his hands straining at the belt. "Please—let me—"

She hushed him, nails dragging down his stomach. "You’ll have it. But not now. Now, you beg."

She shifted her hips, letting the fabric of her dress caress his thighs, lowering herself so he could feel the heat of her without relief. Her teeth found his earlobe, biting, her tongue following to soothe the sting. "Next time you let someone touch my building, you’ll pay for it like this. With every inch. Every hour I feel insulted, you’ll earn back with your body."

He was half-crazed now—cock aching, body burning with need and embarrassment and something close to worship. She watched him thrash, unmoved.

"Men always think control means doing whatever they want," she murmured. "Real control is making someone want you so badly they’d burn for a single touch."

She slid her hand down, barely ghosting over him, then pulled away, leaving him gasping, desperate. She stood, dress swirling around her legs, her eyes like polished obsidian.

He stared up, wrists bound, every nerve screaming.

She leaned over him, lips close but never touching. "If you’re ready to be a man worth keeping, you’ll wait. You’ll remember this when you fuck any of your little girls. You’ll remember who taught you how to beg."

She loosened the belt just enough for circulation, but not enough for movement. Before freeing him, she slid her thumb across his lower lip and pressed two fingers into his mouth, forcing him to suck them slow. Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You think this is where I leave you? No, Joon‑ho... this is where you stop pretending you can resist me."

Her fingers slipped out of his mouth, glistening, trailing down his jaw. She didn’t stand. She didn’t reach for her bag. She only leaned closer—silk brushing his thighs, breath feathering his ear, her body pressing him deeper into the sofa as she murmured:

"Tonight, we don’t stop."

His pulse jumped, violent and helpless. She smiled as if she felt it against her tongue.

The door stayed closed.Her perfume thickened.She hooked a finger under his chin, lifting his face toward her.

"Spread your legs," she whispered, as the city lights spilled against their skin. "I’m not finished tasting what’s mine."

His breath hitched—caught between fear, desire, and surrender—just as she reached down, slipping her hand lower, claiming him with slow, unhurried possession.

And the Chapter cut to black—the last sound the soft hiss of silk sliding up her thighs,the promise of the next moment too charged to survive in silence.